


Lend a Hand

by noseforahtwo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Choose your own human lady, F/M, Intentionally Vague Evelyn Descriptors, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:09:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noseforahtwo/pseuds/noseforahtwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He bit his tongue; the pain stopped him coming then and there, but just barely. Maferath's balls, the sounds she made when she got close."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lend a Hand

**Author's Note:**

> There is not enough Problem Bear smut. I will help rectify this by posting hasty Problem Bear smut.
> 
> Many thanks to reasonablysunny who is patiently hand-holding me through what has become very much A Project. So many drafts, all the drafts. She is a magnificent beta reader who probably smells like fresh towels from the dryer. That's how great she is. Any remaining errors, grammar or otherwise, are entirely my own fault.

  
Quivering moans, brows drawn over tightly shut eyes, her warm breath on his face as she gasped, squirming beneath him. He barely moved, just grinding his cock inside her, feeling the backs of her knuckles rubbing quick circles against his belly as she touched herself.  
  
He'd never been with a woman who brought herself off like this. But he was nothing if not an opportunist and a greedy sod, so he gave her something hard to clench in her hot little depths then let her have things her own way. Besides, he could watch her come from now until the Void. When she was close, her eyes would snap open, unfocused until they found his. She'd look almost scared, those blue eyes wide in something like terror. At least, he'd never seen her eyes wide like that except when she was facing down some rift-borne horror.  
  
She'd be looking up at him any second. Her cunt was clenching rhythmically, but it was the fluttery little pulses that meant she needed more. He drew slowly out until she moaned in that way that sounded delirious, like she was lost to the world when he sank back in with a circling press at the end. "Oh, oh, just...yes..." She begged, thighs trembling with the effort of holding herself at the right angle.  
  
He bit his tongue; the pain stopped him coming then and there, but just barely. Maferath's balls, the sounds she made when she got close. Whimpering and whinging, all of it higher pitched than she ever was normally. Breathlessly pleading with him to move or stay according to the night, to her whim, to how many times she'd come already. Her heels dug into the backs of his knees painfully and he was glad for the distraction as he let her hand on his shoulder guide him. Squeezing meant he should thrust, her nails digging into him meant _Don’t Stop_.  
  
"Maker," he ground out, gritting his teeth because the feel of her around him was too much, and those _noises._.. "What do you need me for when you can bring yourself 'round like this?"  
  
Evelyn laughed then, and it twisted into a sob as she blinked up at him, lip caught in her teeth, hips jerking against his, her furiously rubbing hand pressed between them. "It's not-" she gasped. "Not as good without you. Oh, fuck, please." Every breath was a moan now, her hair was twisted into a mass of tangles beneath her, and still she writhed, caught at the edge. "I can't- nnnngh-can't do _this_ without you." Tremors ran through her, her mouth open in a silent scream.  Her marked hand pulled at the back of his neck in frustration.  
  
He gave her what she wanted-though he didn't have long-thrusting hard and quick until she arched into and then away from him, that circling hand going suddenly still as she let out a strangled whimper. When she arched her back it looked like pain on her face, but she sobbed in ecstasy as her body clenched around his.  
  
Stopping only to pull her ankles to his shoulders, he watched her shiver as he set his own rhythm. She was pliant, happy to let him hold her up as he liked, and so slippery where she took him inside there almost wasn’t enough friction for him.  But then she was gasping again, telling him how good he felt, how perfectly he fucked her. He could pretend it was the way she tightened up intentionally, like a surprisingly muscular fist around his cock, but it was her praise that pushed him over the edge.  
  
The sight of her, pink cheeked and sprawled before him was a hundred times better than what he’d pictured a fortnight ago. In those fantasies, The Inquisitor never told him he was amazing, that he drove her mad. It had been enough for him to tug at himself and imagine her naked and moaning, there was never a litany of sweet and filthy praise. But in her sumptuous bed now, he soaked up flattery like dry ground even as he spent himself so hard his view of her lovely mouth was dim around the edges as she said she couldn’t get enough of watching him come.  
  
Into the damp crook of her neck, he panted, “You have me beat for a pretty show, my lady.” She twitched around his oversensitive cock at the last two words, making him shudder and groan.

He’d slumped over her at some point, hadn’t noticed that she’d wrapped her legs around his hips again until she hooked her ankles at the small of his back and squeezed when he tried to pull away. “I’ll crush you,” he protested, hissing at the slick drag of leaving her body and letting himself collapse at her side.  
  
She stretched, the motion pulling her breasts up perfectly. His hand cupping the one nearest him drew a humming purr from her. Her nipples were too tempting not to thumb to stiff points, and she was squirming in moments.  
  
“Keep that up and you’ll have another show,” she draped herself across his chest and nipped his ear.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” he kissed his way from the corner of her eye to her smiling mouth. “Did you know you pull your hair sometimes? Gorgeous.”  
  
She ducked her head with a wince. Tipping her chin back up, he ran his thumb along her bottom lip, watching her closely. “What is it? Don’t play shy.” Her cheeks were flushed, but it was high up on her cheekbones, spreading to her ears. “You must know you’re-” A half-dozen flowery words came to mind, and he couldn’t choose the one he wanted before she lunged in and kissed him. But he wasn’t going to be distracted by her darting tongue or her sharp little teeth. “Two steps into the Hall and they’ll be toasting your radiance.”  
  
She shrugged, worming her way down to rest her head on the ugly red scar at his shoulder. Trying to ignore the tightness in his chest as he sank his fingers into her hair, he pulled her in closer. This was just the thing he should be avoiding: sleepy tender words in the half-dark. Lying there in her vast curtained bed that was saturated in her scent, he waited until her fingers stopped petting the hair on his sternum absently. Her breathing evened out and he was about to begin easing out from under her when she said quietly, “It doesn’t count from them.”  
  
“Hmm?” Caught trying to flee, he shifted until she was on her back then propped himself on an elbow to brush her hair from her very much awake eyes.  
  
She laughed, but it was obviously nervous. “I know the type. Minor royalty are raised to think if a woman doesn’t hear a compliment every five minutes she’ll become a shrill harpy.”  
  
Looking her over, he slid a hand up her hip, into the dip of her waist, dragged the backs of his knuckles up between her breasts. It was staggering to think she gave him leave to do such a thing. She shivered when he traced the line of her collarbones. “Those poncy cheesemongers your ambassador keeps inviting in _are_ gits, but they aren’t blind.”  
  
Against the fingertips he ran along her lips she said indistinctly, “Who cares?” Her tongue on the pad of his forefinger was the kind of thing he’d think of in his bedroll later. “They’re mostly spies and all of them are very good liars.” She pulled his hand to her breast, oblivious to the shaft of guilt that lanced through him. “You might be evasive about yourself.” Her smile was teasing and he couldn’t bear to keep looking her in the eye. “But I know _you’re_ telling me the truth at least.”  
  
There was nothing for it but to fall on her like a man starved. The mania of confession was on him, but he spent it kneeling on the cold floor, her legs pulled over his shoulders. Mouthing mute apology and pleading forgiveness into her slick flesh he told himself her whimpers and moans were absolution enough.


End file.
